


when the universe ends

by shiromantic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BL Route Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Major Character Injury, basically bl route but felix joins edelgard during the war, wow these tags are intense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiromantic/pseuds/shiromantic
Summary: “I’m not going to fight you.” Sylvain drops his lance onto the grass. Felix keeps his eyes trained on him with his blade still raised – as if this was a trick. As if Sylvain could really hurt him.He coughs, blood spurting down his chin. Sylvain tries for a smile and says, “You’re my friend.”





	when the universe ends

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! i'm back with another sylvix fic!! this one is based on if you only recruit sylvain/felix during your route and they fight each other on gronder field c': and maybe uh captain america: the winter soldier,, but ANYWAY big spoilers for BL route!! i hope you enjoy!

**YEAR 1185**

Sylvain woke up in a feverish haze – not unlike hell with fire burning through his veins. He tries to sit up but cries out as he feels his stomach lurch and head pound with pain.

Cold hands grab him by the shoulders and gently push him down until he’s lying on his back. He attempts to resist – but their grip is steady and familiar. Sylvain thinks he feels a hand press against his forehead before he drifts off again.

-

**YEAR 1172**

“Come on, Felix! Jump in with me!”

Felix stares at Sylvain, in nothing but his undergarments and knee-deep in the water, with a raised eyebrow. He opens his mouth, closes it and then says, “No.”

Okay, he can’t really blame Felix for that - the summers of Northern Faerghus were far too cold for a dip in the river, but Sylvain didn’t feel much chill through his bare skin. And just because he can, he submerges his face in the water and feels his brain go numb. He only emerges when he can’t hold his breath any longer and he’s choking up the river water while laughing.

Felix still stands by the side, fully clothed but now has his arms crossed in a pose far too reminiscent of Ingrid. Although he doesn’t like to admit it, Sylvain knows that Felix watches Ingrid spar against his brother – since she’s the only one who has won against Glenn, whether he lost on purpose or not.

“You’re no fun!” Sylvain whines and splashes some water towards Felix who recoils. “Why did you follow me if you aren’t going to swim too?”

Felix’s ears go red when he’s embarrassed– even if he tries to pass it off as anger rather unsuccessfully. “I – I couldn’t let you leave on your own!” He exclaims. “You know there are wolves in the forest!”

“Aw, but you’d protect me, right?” Sylvain winks.

He huffs, but a smile plays across his lips. “Of course. Who else is going to?”

It’s true. Although Dimitri and Ingrid are their friends, it was always Felix who didn’t give up on Sylvain. Little Felix who can swing a sword like he was born with it attached to his wrist. The same Felix who cries into Sylvain’s chest when he fights with Dimitri and won’t calm down until his hair is played with.

“At least, dip your toes in the water!” Sylvain urges him. “They won’t fall off, I swear it!”

Felix stares. Sylvain flutters his eyelashes – and somehow, that convinces him to unlace his boots and take off his socks.

When Sylvain pulls Felix into the river, he’s hit in the head and he deserves it. Yet, Felix’s smile on his face when he’s chasing Sylvain around in the river in his wet clothes makes everything worth it.

-

**YEAR 1185**

His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton – but when he wakes up to throw up, nothing comes out except some stomach acid. Again, those same hands rub at his back and he feels the callouses that caress Sylvain’s spine.

A basin of water is brought up to Sylvain’s cracked lips – and he drinks and drinks until his stomach starts hurting again. He lies back down and descends into darkness.

-

**YEAR 1175**

They sit under a tree in the clearing in the half-way point of their two houses. Felix quietly bandages Sylvain’s wounds with the supplies they keep under a rock here. The reason they even kept medical supplies was that Felix used to cry and ask for Sylvain to help with the bandages. Those days were so long ago that Sylvain thinks he imagined them until Felix pulled them out of their hole under the rock.

In truth, Sylvain came to this tree every weekend in hopes of meeting Felix. He waits from afternoon to dusk, hoping that Felix would put down his sword one of these days. However, today was a Thursday – and the only reason Sylvain was here was to escape from Miklan.

The last thing he expected was for Felix to be waiting for him and then proceed to play nurse like they were children again. The injuries weren’t that bad – Sylvain had managed to escape before Miklan could do anything more than push him into the thorn bushes. He’s had much worse.

This serves as even more complexing when Felix was now cleaning his cuts like it was his responsibility. Everyone in Sylvain’s life tiptoes around him and Miklan but he knows that hand-shaped bruises can’t always be hidden, and Felix is not even close to inconspicuous about his staring.

Felix applies the last bandage on his arm, smoothing it flat with his thumbs. He refuses to make eye-contact when his hands withdraw and so Sylvain finally breaks the silence: “How did you know I’d be here?”

Still looking away, he replies curtly, “I didn’t.”

“Okay.” He leans against the bark of the tree, staring at the back of Felix’s head. His hair has grown so much longer and he’s now opting to tie it in a bun. “So, why are you here?”

“Why do I owe you any explanation?” He scoffs.

“I don’t know.” Sylvain shrugs. “Maybe because we haven’t seen each other in half a year?”

Felix picks at the grass and murmurs, “You know why.”

_I do, _he thinks. _But I’ve been waiting for months under this tree so you could rest but now you won’t even look at me in the eye._

“It’s not your fault.” He says quietly.

Felix lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t.” Sylvain admits. “My brother hates me and wants me dead, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to understand.”

Felix says nothing but his fists clench tighter. He doesn’t want Felix to get angry for him and he continues in a softer voice: “I just want to help you, Felix. Let me help you.”

“You want to help me?” Felix says, turning towards Sylvain and looking at him for the first time this conversation. His eyes are rimmed red with dark circles – and he’s been crying this entire time without Sylvain knowing. “Stop - stop talking. Just – stay here with me. Just stay.”

He just nods which was the right thing to do because Felix immediately relaxes. He then leans back against the tree, closing his eyes. Felix begins to make soft noises through his clenched jaw: stifled sobbing as tears leak down his face.

Sylvain leans in closer but doesn’t let their shoulders touch. They sit like that until the sun goes down and Felix leaves without saying a word.

-

**YEAR 1185**

He only feels sensations as his eyes remain shut. There’s a numbness in his body which spreads through his fingers and his toes. Within the darkness, he can only manage to decipher a cool cloth against his forehead.

He tries to speak – to talk to his mysterious saviour – but all that comes out of his mouth is a pathetic wheeze. He hears them quietly whisper, “Go back to sleep, Sylvain,” before he falls unconscious again.

-

**YEAR 1180**

Just a little further, he thinks to himself. Just – don’t throw up now, Sylvain.

It was getting harder to walk in a straight line as he ventured down the hallway – even going up the stairs was a feat he didn’t think he’d manage. The thought of being yelled at Ingrid kept him from lying on one of the steps until morning.

Why was his room so faraway? Why couldn’t he have a room somewhere without stairs? _Oh right, his father asked him to be stationed with the other nobles. _He’s suddenly reminded of why he started drinking in the first place and he tries to shove those thoughts down desperately.

Finally, he reaches his room and pushes open the door so forcefully that it hits the wall. He takes a few stumbling steps to fall face first on his bed – but Felix is there, sitting on the edge of it in just a loose white shirt and underwear.

“You’re on my bed.” Sylvain says, pointing at him. “Get off.”

Felix squints at him. “This is my room.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“_Yes, it is_.”

“Prove it.” He challenges. Sylvain tries to cross his arms, but he doesn’t know which arm goes under which – and then he forgets to keep standing so he falls over on the ground with a loud thud.

Even with his face against the floor, he can hear Felix heavily sigh. He’s promptly lifted (how can Felix pick him up so easily?) and forced to stand as he’s undressed.

“Are you taking advantage of me, Felix?” He slurs as the buttons on his blouse are being undone at a fast pace. Sylvain thinks that a button breaks off. “I didn’t think of you as a man with such ulterior motives…”

“Shut up before I kill you.” Felix snaps as he shoves off Sylvain’s jacket – and he complies because Sylvain thinks that he might follow through with his promise this time.

He toes off his boots at least because he doesn’t trust himself not to kick Felix in the face with his lack of coordination right now. He didn’t realize how much he was burning up in those layers and feels himself sober up from the cold air hitting his face and bare chest.

Sylvain stumbles towards the bed and sits down with his head propped up against the wall. Running a hand through his sweat-slicked bangs, he sighs and closes his eyes. He thinks he might be able to fall asleep like this, but he can’t help but listen to Felix in the background; a window being opened and then the sound of water moving around in a wash basin.

“What are you…doing?” Sylvain asks when he feels a damp cloth wipe away the sweat on his forehead and cheeks. The wetness is cooling against his flushed complexion.

Sylvain doesn’t expect Felix’s voice to be so close and he shivers when his breath hits his ear, “Don’t look into it. You reek of cheap beer and sweat.”

“No, I would never think that you feel anything other than anger and disgust.” He promises solemnly. “I know that you’re incapable of any other emotion, Felix. Promise.”

He cracks an eye open to see the rare sight of Felix’s smile and chuckle under his breath. He was so close that he could count the freckles on the bridge of Felix’s nose that appeared during their time at Garreg Mach: where the sun was brighter, and the grass was greener.

Like a punch in the gut, he thinks with nothing but sincerity: _I want to see every version of you. _

“Well then,” Felix pulls back and throws the cloth into the wash basin carelessly. The water splashes onto the table from the drop. “I’m glad that I don’t have to remind you.”

Felix remains close to Sylvain with their thighs touching: bare skin to trousers. It must be the alcohol because the small amount of contact made his nerves set on fire like nothing else before. He’s thankful that he doesn’t have to say anything – he never has to do anything he didn’t want to with Felix.

He nearly dozes off until he hears Felix whisper something meant for him: “You’ve been drinking too much. What if there was a mission tonight? You’d get killed.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t die.” Sylvain mumbles, half-asleep. “We made a promise – don’t you remember? On the grassy hill.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“I’m just saying!”

The window is still open – and even the trees weren’t rustling in the wind anymore. It was like the universe had stopped and they became the centre of everything; all they had to do was move for it to begin its rotation again.

“You don’t even like fooling around.” Felix spits out. “And yet, you continue to do it over and over. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Hey!” Sylvain exclaims weakly. Fatigue doesn’t do well with fake enthusiasm, and his next words come out a bit too defeated for his taste. “You know what they say: a man’s greatest success comes from his madness.”

“No one says that. You’re lying.”

“Yeah, I made it up just now.” He admits. “But, hey – it sounds convincing, doesn’t it?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible. I can’t ever have a serious conversation with you – because you say stuff like that and it’s so – it’s so – “

“Attractive?”

“Infuriating.” He hisses through the gap between his clenched teeth. “It’s like – you don’t even care about yourself!”

Sylvain snorts. “Says you. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard,” he continues the next part in a mocking high-pitched tone, “_I can’t, I’m training today. And the day after. And for the rest of my life so, don’t even talk to me. Did I mention that I’m training today?_”

“Whatever.” Felix huffs, which is what he only does when he has nothing to counter – so Sylvain can confidently say he won this battle. “At least I have a reason for what I do. Everything you do is – nonsense.”

“You’re the one who invited the drunk into his room.” He points out, shrugging. “You know what they say – “

“Whatever you’re about to say: _don’t_.”

Sylvain laughs – and by some miracle, Felix also starts laughing too. Two times in a day? He didn’t think that was possible. Despite the nausea still sitting deep in his skull, he wishes that he could sit in this moment forever. Their warm bodies pressed together with the window open that filters moonlight onto Felix’s sheets.

Usually, his smiles and laughs were always restrained or forced down. It was as if Felix was ashamed of them – but tonight, it was as if his walls were stripped away.

When it hits him, he couldn’t stop himself blurting out, “You’re drunk.”

Felix snorts. “Not quite. I had a few drinks – but I can’t believe it took you this long to notice.”

“You never drink. Like ever.” Sylvain exclaims incredulously. His mind goes through a series of emotions: shock, joy, then hurt. “Why didn’t you invite me? You always say no when I say we should go out for drinks - “

“Sylvain.” Felix interrupts him sharply. “I don’t drink for enjoyment.”

It takes a moment to process the sentence. He runs over the words in his head repeatedly whilst staring at Felix and his flushed cheeks. He thinks about how just moments ago, he was thinking that it was like they were children again – but Felix was only acting this way because he was hurting alone. Sylvain feels his heart break.

He’s quiet long enough for Felix to freak out and snap at him, “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not like that, Felix,” he murmurs quietly. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “Goddess, I just wish – I just wish I was there for you.”

“Why does that matter?” Felix’s frown deepens, irritation settling into his brow. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

Sylvain shakes his head. “It matters to me – it matters because it’s you, Felix.”

“We can never go back,” he whispers, and Sylvain is starting to think that the flush on his face is not just the alcohol. “All we can do is fight for what we believe in.”

He thinks of Miklan and the fire in his eyes when wielding the Lance of Ruin. He thinks of Ingrid and when he finally saw her leave her room, face gaunt and eyes rimmed red. Then, Dimitri who doesn’t think Sylvain notices when his hands shake during a fight. All those people he couldn’t save.

But Felix is here now – and he’s looking at Sylvain expectantly with liquid courage running through both their veins. Maybe, they both need something to believe in tonight.

He counts to ten before he says, “Hey. I really want to kiss you right now.”

It’s enough for Felix who crashes their lips together clumsily. Their teeth clack loudly and Sylvain’s surprised that his lip didn’t bust open from the impact. It was rough – but not in the good way at all.

He pushes Felix away, about to make a remark about his lack of skill, but it gets stuck in his throat when he sees Felix’s expression: sheepish, earnest and vulnerable.

He knows that if he waits too long that Felix will just call the whole thing off – so he guides their mouths back together, slowly this time. His hands cradle the sides of Felix’s face as he sets the pace: enveloping his mouth with his own.

After a couple of minutes of slow and steady, Felix tries again and pulls himself into Sylvain’s lap with his calloused hands digging into his shoulders. The second time around isn’t perfect, of course, but he makes up for it with his sheer enthusiasm. It gets better as time passes and he thanks the goddess that Felix is a fast learner. When Sylvain holds onto Felix’s waist, he makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat – and his mind spins from the pleasure.

When they part again, Felix is panting with drool running down his chin. Sylvain takes his sleeve and wipes until it’s dry even with him squirming around in his lap.

“Felix, can I - ” He’s stopped by Felix immediately kissing him and he can’t help but laugh against his lips, as he tries to speak around his persistent kissing. “Come on, mmph - Felix - !”

He sighs, withdrawing with a disgruntled expression. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

“It’s important!” Sylvain exclaims indignantly. “Communication is important in every relationship – “

“_Sylvain_.”

“Can I stay with you tonight?” He asks. Maybe, that was already implied when Sylvain stepped into the room and was undressed – but he wanted to make sure. He didn’t want to assume anything – didn’t want to ruin things like he always does.

Felix shakes his head. “You really are an idiot.”

Before Sylvain can protest, he’s being pushed backwards onto the bed and kissed until he sees stars.

-

**YEAR 1185**

It’s the first time he wakes up and can assess his surroundings. He’s in the infirmary of the Monastery with the mid-afternoon sun on his face and his body tucked underneath the covers. He tries to sit up but the pain in his side stops him mid-way and he groans, lying back onto the stacked pillows.

“Oh, Sylvain! You’re finally awake!”

Across the room is Mercedes holding a tray of baked goods near the open door. The tray rattles as she runs toward him and the baked treats nearly fall onto the ground when she places them on the bedside table. They sit beside a bouquet of sunflowers and tea leaves.

“Hey there, Mercedes.” He croaks out with a weak smile. “How long have I been out for?”

“Ah, well – you’ve been in the infirmary for only a day.” She hums in thought. “I don’t exactly know how long you’ve been unconscious for.”

Sylvain wants to raise his eyebrow, but he doesn’t think he has the strength to. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Well, after the battle at Gronder Field, we couldn’t find you.” She frowns. Mercedes begins to check his temperature and wipe his face with a wet cloth. Her hands are so small and delicate with no callouses on her digits. “We were worried sick…it was the professor who found you in the forest by a river. He said that you were unconscious already with your wounds hastily bandaged and healed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Mercedes sits down in the guest chair, folding her hands in her lap. “It is a bit odd, but I don’t think the professor would lie to us. And there were our old classmates on the battlefield…”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Don’t say what I think you’re suggesting, Mercedes.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes softly. Sylvain hates when she does – it makes him feel like the worst person in the world. “I don’t know what happened, but, when the professor brought you to me – your body was under the effects of white magic already. All I had to was change your bandages.”

“Maybe the goddess didn’t forget about me after all.” He jokes with a wry grin. His expression doesn’t feel real – and he doesn’t know why he’s trying. Maybe he doesn’t know where the fake Sylvain ends and the real one begins either.

Mercedes smiles, warmer than the light filtering through the window. “She finds us when we need it most. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I feel the goddess watching over me.”

The conversation derails when Mercedes remembers the baked treats she made for Sylvain when he’s conscious. He declines as he doesn’t quite trust himself not to throw it up immediately but gladly accepts the offer of his favourite Bergamot Tea. She excuses herself from the room to steep the leaves and he listens to the quiet footsteps against the wooden floors as she descends the stairs.

As he waits, his body begins to feel heavy with fatigue and his eyes flutter shut. He drifts into a light slumber and doesn’t see the goddess. Sylvain sees Felix.

-

**YEAR 1185**

“Hey, Felix? Remember when we were kids and we made a promise about dying together?”

The rain is cold against Sylvain’s face, but the Lance of Ruin gives off a warm light as it pulses in his grasp. Gronder Field is made up of dark greens and greys, but the holy relic is just as gold as the gaze pinned upon him now.

“I remember,” he says, voice quiet against the rumbling thunder.

Every night, he wished the rumours weren’t true. He convinced himself that the only thing that would stop Felix from their reunion was death. When he prayed in front of the rubble, he wasn’t sure if he was asking the goddess to keep Felix safe or to keep him alive.

He tightens the lance in his hands with a wry grin stretching across his face. “Well,” he starts. “Seems we're about to kill each other.”

The way he unsheathes his sword is seamless – he used to practice for hours when they were kids. Now, it hardly made a noise as he readies it in his grip. “Sorry, Sylvain. You'll die first.”

Felix runs at him and swings his sword in sweeping arcs as Sylvain attempts to parry with the length of his lance. He has no opportunity to attack as he’s bombarded with quick slices and stabs, being pushed backwards with each hit.

Amidst adjusting his grip on his lance, Felix runs in and grazes him with the side of his sword. He hisses and staggers in pain as he runs in again, a slashing arc from above. Sylvain rolls away but he feels the end hit his arm, his gauntlets barely withstanding the force.

The Lance of Ruin falls out of his grasp and he scrambles to pick it up again, blocking the following slash from Felix again. He pushes him off and Felix goes falling into the mud – and finally, he has a chance to attack.

The Lance of Ruin begins to pulse in his hands, and he feels his blood set on fire: the art of Gautier. He could finish it now – he has the power to take down dragons in his grip. _Do it now before he gets up_, Sylvain thinks. _Don’t you want to live? _

Felix is already up but he’s hesitating – gaze flickering to the weapon and back to Sylvain. His grip on his sword tightens and he waits. In the distance, mages call out their tomes as the fields set ablaze. When he looks at Felix’s face, the way his wet hair hangs over his face, he was twelve and he was ten and they were playing in the river again.

“I’m not going to fight you.” Sylvain drops his lance onto the grass. Felix keeps his eyes trained on him with his blade still raised – as if this was a trick. As if Sylvain could really hurt him.

He coughs, blood spurting down his chin. Sylvain tries for a smile and says, “You’re my friend.”

Sylvain feels it before he sees the hilt being shoved into his stomach and the air being knocked out of him when he’s pushed onto the ground. Sylvain falls into the mud like a rag doll and he’s being pinned down by a heavy weight on his chest.

The tip of his sword is pressed against Sylvain’s throat with a steady grip. Felix’s eyes burn as the flames roared – dirt and blood mixed on his face. Through it all, Sylvain can still distinguish the expression on his face: it is undeniably, the face of a suffering man.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” He whispers. 

Felix lifts his blade. “You’ll die for that mistake.”

And everything goes dark.

-

**YEAR 1186**

One year has passed since the end of the war.

As Margrave Gautier, it was Sylvain’s duty to take care of his citizens or any skirmishes that would appear across Northern Fodlan. He makes sure to improve their relations with the Sreng Region and change the system that ruined his life. He sees His Highness the most, but Dimitri is adamant about staying on topic and not going for drinks. However, his hands shake less, and he smiles at Sylvain now, so things weren’t terrible.

When he visits the monastery, there was the Archbishop Byleth who looks at him with the same empty stare, somehow still the same professor from six years ago. He doesn’t think he’ll be scolded for leaving his guest room, but he still tries his best to stay quiet and hope that he doesn’t run into her.

It brings a smile to his face when he sees that Byleth still hasn’t given up her habits even with her responsibility as Archbishop. Every grave had a fresh bouquet of flowers just as the same that she would give to her beloved students and coworkers.

He didn’t witness Rodrigue’s sacrifice or his burial. He was never close to him like Dimitri was – and perhaps, he might’ve hated him for the way that he treated Felix after Glenn’s death. The way he would look at Felix like he was a ghost – it made him furious. He never told Rodrigue his feelings – but he thinks that he might’ve always knew.

Now that he’s at the monastery, he might as well pay his respects. He doesn’t want to be haunted by his ghost - goddess knows, he’s already haunted enough. When he arrives, he sees a lone figure standing by the grave already. He knows who it is even in the darkness of the night – he always will know him through life, death, and whatever comes after.

And Sylvain does what he dreamed of doing for years: he strides up to Felix and punches him in the face. Felix nearly goes sprawling across the ground, but Sylvain doesn’t let him – holding him up by his collar.

“You saved me.” Sylvain seethed, gripping his collar tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. “I nearly died that day – by your own sword but then, you pulled me into the river to escape and saved my life.”

Felix stares up at him with an empty gaze. There was nothing in his expression for Sylvain and he wonders when it became so hard to read his emotions. It was akin to looking at a stranger with a heartbreak twice as strong.

“Why?” He chokes out. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

Tears fall on Felix’s face, an uneven pitter patter across his cheeks and nose. He doesn’t flinch even as Sylvain’s grip goes tighter and answers: “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

Felix doesn’t deny it. His gaze never wavers.

“Come home.” Sylvain begs him. More silence, almost never-ending. “Dimitri would forgive you – it can just be like old times again.”

Finally, the stoic mask breaks and Felix explodes, punching Sylvain in the jaw. He lets go of him and stumbles but when he looks back at Felix, he sees that he got the worst of it with his knuckles bleeding.

“Shut up!” He shouts, face red with anger. “You don’t know anything! We can’t ever go home – it can never be like how it used to be.”

“Not everything has changed, Felix.” Sylvain insists, holding his hands out. “You’re still my best friend.”

This time, the punch hits him in the nose and he hears it crack horribly. He tastes the blood as it drips down from his nose and on his lips, but he wipes it away, speaking again: “Even if you won’t say it, I know. I know that maybe, you loved me just as much as I loved you.”

Felix makes a roaring noise and he pushes Sylvain onto the ground, using nothing but his fists to hurt Sylvain over, and over, again. He feels darkness close in with every fist-cuff to the face. His face burns with pain and he feels his jaw swelling from the first hit, surely forming an ugly bruise now.

“I’ll really kill you this time.” Felix says with a curl of his lip. “I will! I will! I’ll end your life – and then, you’ll finally shut up about the past and stupid promises!”

“Then finish it.” Sylvain rasps. “And when the universe ends, I’ll meet you there instead.”

He watches the fist come down – slowly, slowly, until it unfurls and hits him in the chest with a dull thud. Felix continuously taps against his chest with his fist as his body shakes from his sobs. His wet tears fall onto Sylvain’s face as he makes high-pitched crying noises, sounding raw in his throat.

“You…you’re nothing but a fool.” Felix manages to spit out through his tears. “A fool – for what? Love? You let me nearly kill you again, Margrave Gautier.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to act. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved.”

The pain begins to settle into his skull, and he groans. He closes his eyes, in attempt to ward off the pain, but calloused hands cup his cheeks and he feels green light flood from the fingers. The pain lessens slowly until it just feels like he had a nasty fall. When he opens his eyes, Felix is looking down at him with teary eyes, but he doesn’t let go. He rubs slow, careful, circles with his thumbs on Sylvain’s cheekbones like he might break.

“You don’t have to come home.” Sylvain whispers. “Just stay with me. Please.”

Felix answers in the only way he knows how by kissing him, soft and gentle. He thinks he tastes his own blood, but he swallows it down easily. There’s no force in the world that could have Sylvain stop this.

When they finally do part, Felix murmurs, “Don’t leave me ever again.”

Sylvain’s head falls back onto the wet grass and he laughs. “It’s a promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> every kudos and comment is appreciated!!  
find me @aikusoren on twitter! **will contain spoilers!!**


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